Morning Repairs
by Icicle Raindream
Summary: Luke and Noah spend a Saturday morning together.


Disclaimer: I own nothing of As the World Turns and am making no profit from this.

Notes: I'd always wanted to write something with the boys involving Noah's truck. :-) Bit of a warning: this fic contains suggestive dialogue. Hope you enjoy! I had a ton of fun with this one. :-)

* * *

Morning Repairs

Good grief. He was _trying_ to kill me.

I stood at the window of our bedroom, holding the curtains back with each hand. Noah's truck was parked in its assigned spot in the back lot of our apartment building as usual, and the sight of him held my attention steadily, as he crouched down to open his toolbox, which he had placed next to his truck. God knows why he had chosen to get up at seven-thirty in the morning to fix whatever he'd been wanting to fix on that truck, but I surely wasn't complaining. From where I stood in our bedroom, I could see the tight denim of his jeans hugging every blessed curve of his body – from his hips _all_ the way down – and the light blue T-shirt he wore was reflective of those amazingly soulful eyes he owned, it too hugging tightly that slim, muscled torso.

God. I hadn't even had my morning coffee yet.

I watched until Noah finished rooting through his toolbox, had the correct wrench in hand, and was slowly – achingly – scooting face-up underneath the passenger side of his truck. I don't know how I managed to pry my eyes off him; I'm entirely certain I could have stood at the window and watched him – even if it was only half of him (some could argue it was the good half) – for the rest of the day, but somehow I steeled myself away from the sight.

I pulled the front of my pajama shirt away from my chest to get some air as I turned from the window and headed to our tiny kitchen. I needed coffee, pronto.

*

"You should get one of those _things_," I suggested brightly.

I was standing outside on the pavement in my pajamas and slippers, holding my coffee mug, staring down at Noah's long legs, which were poking out from underneath his vehicle.

Noah twisted halfway out from under his truck, his brow furrowed. "What things?" he asked, confused. He glanced pointedly down at his crotch, then back up at me. "I'm pretty sure I've already got a _thing_."

I huffed in mock annoyance. "You think you're funny, Mayer," I scoffed under my breath. "No, I mean one of those _rolling_ things." I gestured with my left hand, sweeping it back and forth to demonstrate a rolling movement towards him.

Noah continued to look perplexed, his face soiled with grease and sweat. "You know…for a writer, Luke, you are astoundingly non-descriptive sometimes." He swiveled back up under the truck, his top half once again hidden from my view.

I shook my head in defeat. How was I supposed to know what the damn thing was called? "I meant one of those back-supports that mechanics use. The ones that have wheels on them, to help you slide in and out underneath the car."

"Ah." Noah finally understood. His voice was muffled as he spoke from under his truck. "You like it when I slide in and out, don't you?'

"Careful now, Mr. Mayer," I warned, grinning into my coffee. "You know how dirty talk gets us in trouble, especially this early." I sipped from my mug.

"Not my fault," he replied, his voice still muffled. "When I don't get my usual Saturday morning coffee with a complimentary side of Luke Snyder, I'm very easily distracted."

"How _ever_ do you manage to concentrate?" I pondered teasingly, laughing. I sat cross-legged on the pavement next to his long limbs.

"Sheer willpower," was his gruff answer.

I surveyed his lower half for a moment, listening to his screwdriver clinking against the metal underbelly of his truck. "Well, thank heavens for that," I told him, eyeing the spot where the bottom tip of his shirt met the waistband of his jeans. "You being covered in grease and dirt with about an hour's worth of sweat coating your body wouldn't help the situation."

"Oh yeah? How so?"

"Because…" I fingered his upper right thigh, my nails digging into the denim that was stretched tightly around his muscled leg. The dark fabric was hot from the sun overhead; no doubt his skin beneath was hotter. I clutched my coffee mug at the image of Noah's slick skin under my hands as it flashed through my mind. "I kinda just want to strip you right now," I admitted quietly.

Noah stopped what he was doing and held completely still under the truck for a moment. Then he twisted out from underneath it, his crystal blue eyes locking with mine. "Was that an invitation?"

I pulled my hand back quickly and hooked it around my coffee cup, deliberately pasting my best evilly innocent expression across my face. I slowly sipped from my mug, averting his eyes, then replied smugly, "Maybe…" I placed the mug down next to me and focused on him.

Noah sat up slowly so that he was facing me fully, his eyes never leaving my face once. He braced himself against the pavement with both hands and took a deep breath, then gradually leaned towards me until his nose was brushing mine. My heart thudded against my ribcage at his sudden closeness, and he tilted his head, his lips mere centimeters from touching mine. Our eyes remained locked as we studied each other in silence, the electricity from his body heat coursing through me. His jeans were stretched even tighter against his waist now, his snug blue T-shirt sporting random splotches from the leak he had been trying to fix from his truck. His hair was disheveled in that windblown, careless way, and the sweat was dripping from his forehead down over his temples. I had to take a hard swallow.

Noah gently nudged my nose with his and my mouth fell open of its own accord. His mouth was so close I could practically taste the salt on his skin. He lifted his right hand from the pavement towards my face, agonizingly slow, then suddenly changed his destination and before I knew it, his hand was retracting from beside me and he was drinking from my coffee mug with his own evilly innocent expression coming over his face.

I sat paralyzed as he swallowed the last of my warm beverage and then grinned at me like the tease he knew he was. He shrunk back under the truck, his form stretching back to its original position. His laughter emanated from under the vehicle as the clinking of his screwdriver resumed.

I quickly regained my senses and slapped playfully at his leg, the dark denim of his jeans still hot against my palm. "Keep that up and you'll be showering alone after this," I threatened, but the laughter was building in my throat, and I knew I couldn't hold it down.

"You can't resist me, Snyder," was Noah's comeback, cocky and tinged with that adorable mock arrogance of his.

I laughed quietly into my lap. "Ain't that the truth," I muttered.

*

"Ouch! Son of a bitch!" Noah's yell came from under his truck, where he had finished tinkering with the screwdriver and was now working towards patching yet another leak he had just recently discovered.

I shot up from the pavement in a panic, almost tipping over. I braced myself against the truck door. "What? What happened?" I shouted anxiously at his legs.

Noah swore again before answering me. "I cut my hand."

I crouched down and tried to peer under the truck to see him, but to no avail. "Let me see it," I urged, tugging on his right leg.

Noah wormed his way slowly out from under the truck, painstakingly inching his body, using what I immediately decided was a lethal combination of pure abdomen, shoulder, and back muscle as his guide. I could see his defined stomach through the cotton of his light blue T-shirt, contracting and relaxing with each of his movements as he slowly appeared from underneath the vehicle, looking up at me with those baby blue eyes that cried for sympathy and assistance. Dear Lord, this boyfriend of mine was going to be the death of me.

I cleared my throat quickly and reached for him. He lay flat against the pavement and offered his right hand up to me, the blood dripping through the fingers of his left hand, which he had been using to try to control the bleeding.

The gash on the inside of his right index finger was long, but not deep. He needed a solid amount of pressure on it to stop the blood flow. I glanced around us for something to cover his finger with, but there was nothing of use nearby, just Noah's open toolbox and a few wrenches strewn about.

Then I looked down at myself, and it took all of two seconds before I was tearing the left sleeve of my white T-shirt from my arm and wrapping it securely around Noah's wound. His eyes widened at my actions, but he didn't pull away as I tied the cotton firmly but gently around his cut.

"Luke…your shirt…" His eyesight trailed over my ragged sleeve.

I shrugged at him, my right hand clamped down on the cloth over his finger. "It's fine," I told him, reaching my left hand to help him sit up. I steadied him into a comfortable position. "You needed pressure."

Noah leaned back against the truck, smiling at me, those blue eyes catching the shine of sunlight above. I smiled back, keeping my hand firmly planted around his finger. Noah was so sexy just sitting there in front of me, covered in grease and sweat and who knows what else. I was very lucky to have not only such an incredibly attractive boyfriend, but also one with a hugely compassionate heart as well. The least I could do was lose one shirt for him.

The right corner of his mouth curled up in that mischievous grin I knew so well, and I had to ask. "What?"

"It's a shame you beat me to it." He sighed into his lap, feigning discontent. "I was planning on ripping that shirt off you later."

I laughed at him, loving his bold dirty talk. I shrugged happily. "Great minds think alike. Besides," I drawled, "there's plenty of my shirt left to rip." I raised my eyebrow suggestively at him.

Noah lifted our hands up to my line of vision. "But now I'm worried," he said, gesturing towards our fingers.

"Worried?" I repeated. He didn't need a hospital. He was going to be fine, as soon as his cut was cleaned and properly bandaged.

He nodded. "Are you still going to make me shower alone?" he asked in a small voice. He wiggled his injured finger underneath my hand, tickling my skin. "I could use all the help I can get now."

I laughed again. Talk about an invitation. "Don't worry," I assured him lowly, leaning close to him so our noses brushed. "I'll help you anytime."

"I like the sound of that." He leisurely stroked my cheek with his nose, a grin sliding over his face.

"Besides, what I have in mind for you doesn't require the use of your _hands_," I whispered, resting my forehead against his.

"Even better…" His lips were level with mine now, his mouth slightly open, hot breath breezing over my mouth. He leaned ever closer.

Without pulling away, I reached in between us and grasped the right sleeve of my shirt, tugging at it until the fabric began to rip. It tore off into an uneven strip, and I leaned back from Noah slightly, then good-naturedly reached up to his face to mop some of the grease and sweat off his skin.

He chuckled against the material as it slid over his face, then replaced his forehead against mine as I tossed the cloth over my shoulder, our lips once again inches from each other. "Stealing my thunder, Snyder," he admonished in a whisper, then steadfastly captured my mouth with his own.

We sat on the pavement in the back lot of our apartment, the morning sun burning down on us, Noah's body heat making me dizzy. I can't say how long we stayed locked in position, entwined together on the ground with Noah's back pushed up against the passenger-side door of his truck, but by the time we broke apart for air, I was as covered in grease and sweat as he was.

We headed back into our building then, the rest of the intended car repairs rescheduled for another day. From that point on the only activity penciled into our agenda was peeling those tight jeans off my hot boyfriend and letting him ravage me some more under the calming stream of a cool shower.


End file.
